


(Broken) Shapes of Love

by SapphyreLily



Series: Different Sun, Same Land [10]
Category: Guild Wars 2 (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Character Death, Original Character(s), ls4 ep 5 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:13:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23245333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphyreLily/pseuds/SapphyreLily
Summary: The humans have a day to celebrate lovers, but there are many other forms of love as well. Not all of them end well. Most of them end badly, if you happen to be Murasaki, Starmist or Aeris.[Alternatively: Loving is Cruel, and Hearts Always Stay Broken]
Relationships: Aeris Blizzardglade/Starmist Whisper, Murasaki Hikyuu & Aeris Blizzardglade
Series: Different Sun, Same Land [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1001394
Kudos: 1





	(Broken) Shapes of Love

**Author's Note:**

> First of all: heavy heartbreak in places and it's kinda traumatic but idk how to tag it appropriately bc I don't even have the words for it myself. Let me know how I should be tagging this

Starmist rises from his place between the leaves quietly, eyes tracking the departing saurians. With Mordremoth gone, the Mordrem are no longer an issue, but the jungle poses enough problems of its own.

He sighs under his breath and resumes his trek, eyes watchful, sword ready. The cliff where he will make his dive is just up ahead, but he would greatly prefer it if he could do it unhindered, and without being chased by the jungle's irritants.

_Pocket raptors_ , he thinks sourly, _are definitely not part of Ameyalli's provision._

_He_ didn’t think so, at least.

Glancing around him a last time, he steps gingerly onto the branch, inching out along it. His glider is half-formed on his back, ready to be snapped open when he jumps.

He can just make out the ledge he has to get to, the faint sound of the lute almost hidden by the natural sounds of the jungle.

Starmist takes a deep breath, and leaps.

His body snaps up, lifted by the wind catching the corporeal glider formed by Mist energy he ripped out of a rift. It spreads above him in great sweeping wings, translucent but for the ripples of energy that define the shape of a dragon.

He angles the glider towards the ledge he was eyeing earlier, tugging on the tendrils of energy to steer himself.

Twenty metres… Ten metres… Five… He yanks on the energy, compressing it and shoving it back through another rift, just in time for him to drop onto the ledge. His feet land softly on the grass, and he folds the remnants of the glider up, tucking that particular energy signature into a small rift he carved explicitly for that purpose.

He looks up, head cocked; the music has stopped, and he can see why. The strumming Itzel has fallen back, his lute abandoned, bow and arrow nocked and pointed at him.

“Sylvari. But with a spectacular type of glider, the likes of which I’ve never seen. In the shape of a dragon, no less.”

Starmist can hear the unspoken question in his voice, see the wariness in his unblinking eyes.

_Do you serve the dragons? Must I end you?_

Starmist blinks. Opens his mouth and speaks slowly. “Ibli sent me. He said I might find you here, might perhaps commission a song from you.”

“Commission?” Acan lowers his weapon, just a fraction. “I play for fun. For joy. I had not thought of commissions before.”

Starmist smiles, a small, wry thing. “Murasaki – the Pact Commander – told me you play beautifully. She has not the time to come back, but I thought I might seek you out for a song or two.”

Hesitating for a moment, he adds, “Today is a special occasion, by the human calendars. I thought to celebrate it, with music.”

Acan blinks, the only sign that he registers Starmist's words. “The Pact Commander. Yes, I remember her. In a huge rush at the time, but with a lovely glider as well. Purple and pink – such unusual colours in the jungle. So easy to spot and get shot down, in carelessness.”

The sylvari winces, but nods. “That’s her. I’m her friend. Might I convince you to play me a song, and I give you a glider?”

Acan blinks again. His smile stretches as he lowers the bow and arrow completely. “Teach me how to use it as well, and I shall play you more than a single song.”

Starmist grins. “You have yourself a deal.”

So it was settled. Starmist would teach Acan how to glide once he was off-duty. The Itzel would play him a song right away, since he was still on scout duty, and could easily complete his end of the bargain.

“What would you like to hear?”

Starmist sinks down to the ground and purses his lips, tilting his head back against the log with a small shrug. “Anything. Play me your favourite.”

Acan's eyes flit to him, his fingers absently stroking the strings, half-formed melodies escaping into the air. “You came to bargain for a song, and you will not choose one?”

Starmist shakes his head. “Not because I will not choose, but because I cannot. I do not know any songs.”

Acan’s eyes narrow, and his mouth presses into a flat line. “That is…unusual.”

The sylvari shrugs. “I’ve lost a lot more to the dragons than just echoes of songs. I don’t bother myself with worrying about it for too long.”

Acan appraises him for a moment longer, head cocked. “What were you saying before – that it is a special occasion?”

Starmist nods. “A day of celebration for lovers. I admit that I do not know much other than that.”

Acan nods slowly, his eyes flicking back to the jungle before them. “Have you a lover?”

Starmist almost smiles, a twinge of pain in his chest. “Once.”

“…a song of remembrance, then. For what you once had.”

Webbed fingers begin to work the lute, teasing the strains of a melody from it. It winds and peaks and falls, tugging Starmist along on its journey, drawing him into a nest of memories.

_A blue-barked hand takes his, softly illuminated by the glow of fireflies, and glowing within from the sylvari's glow. Starmist looks up into his face, a grin lifting his lips as he squeezes the hand._

_“Star, will you dance with me?”_

_“Of course.”_

_Their entwined fingers lift, shifting until their hands lie palm to palm, flat against each other. Starmist reaches out to place a hand on his boyfriend’s waist, turning him, moving them, until they are pacing slow circles under the fireflies' glow._

_Aeris dips his head, but Starmist can still see his expression: nervous but pleased, and a tad shy. He wants to reach up and kiss him._

_Starmist presses his fingertips harder against Aeris’, prompting the other male to look at him. His lips lift at the corner, and Starmist’s hand shifts, sliding to the small of Aeris’ back. His other hand twists their joined palms until he has a firm grasp on his hand, and he steps closer._

_Aeris steps back, but he is still in the half-circle of Starmist's arm, and the shorter male takes it as an opportunity to press the dance. Leading them, guiding them._

_Aeris’ face falls as he realises it. “I asked you to dance, and yet you’re leading.”_

_Starmist chuckles. “We can swap, if you want to lead.”_

_His boyfriend shakes his head. “In a minute. Indulge me, and I’ll take my turn to treat you.”_

_Starmist can’t help his grin or his next action. The hand holding Aeris’ slides free, moving to cup the back of his neck and pull him down, their lips meeting in a brief but tender kiss. Starmist captures his lower lip between his teeth, tugging at it gently, marvelling at the plush flesh. He releases it and presses another kiss to Aeris’ mouth instead, relishing the taste and feel of him, never wanting to back away._

_From the way Aeris’ arm has wound around his back, pulling Starmist against him, he knows his boyfriend feels the same way._

Acan’s song trails off in a smattering of notes and unwound melodies, and Starmist glances up at him. He can feel the wobbly smile on his face, the water clouding his vision, and takes a shaky breath.

“Thank you.”

(Even his voice sounds tinny, stretched thin and about to break.)

Acan nods slowly, his fingers stilling. “The song should invoke good memories. Why do you weep?”

Starmist gives in and wipes his eyes. “…because it _was_ a good memory. A situation that will not happen again. But I am grateful that you reminded me of it. I shall treasure it dearly.”

The Itzel doesn’t look too convinced, but Starmist isn’t an expert at reading hylek expressions.

He leans back against the trunk as Acan begins a new song, uplifting and cheery.

But his heart cannot shake the earlier memory, and a tang of pain remains.

_I miss you, my love._

\-----

Murasaki trails a hand through the water, the ripples distorting her reflection.

She can’t look at herself. Not now, not ever. Thorns, she is such a _fool_.

_What made you think you were lovable? Naïve, stupid sapling._

_You should have died in your pod, let Aeris absorb you. At least then,_ one _of you would have survived, remained useful._

Her teeth sink into her lower lip, and she gnaws at it, refusing to let the tears fall.

_Stupid,_ stupid _sapling._

_Ayla's never going to love you. Just like Carita. Just like Varshur._

_Stop falling in love with others, especially those who don’t –_ won’t _– love you back. Or those who just want to use you. Like Amatsu._

Her fingers tighten into a fist, and another volley of ripples dances away.

_Mother spare your soul, but you’re_ stupid.

Murasaki knows better. Knows better than to be sitting here and pining; knows better than to have this mental breakdown when out there, her soldiers are having problems of their own.

Her soldiers. The Pact.

Not really _her_ soldiers anymore, since she resigned long ago. But everyone still looks to her as a leader, more so than Logan, and they will follow her into fire. They depend upon her leadership, lousy though she has been.

So, they are still her soldiers, after all.

Murasaki draws her hand back, barely flicking the water off before she presses it against her chest, a breath catching on its way out as a memory assaults her.

_The Marshal –_ Trahearne _– the firstborn who loved you, and was lost._

_Didn’t you love him too?_

She knows the answer, as well as each splintered and shattered piece of her remaining soul.

_I love him. Loved. Mother forgive me, but I loved him so much._

_And now he’s gone._

_Just like everyone who crosses my path._

_It’s a wonder Star still likes me. It’s a wonder Aoi and Dori still stay. It’s amazing that Aeris acknowledges I exist._

_Oh Mother, forgive me._

_Please forgive me, and my stupidity._

She can’t stay. She won’t. She has no right to be sitting here, pining and crying over people who will never love her. No right to be sitting here, whole and complete, when her twin is so badly damaged that he is not himself any more.

_Not really whole and complete. I died._

_Did it matter? Dying? I came back. Came back, and made everything worse._

_I should’ve stayed._

The soft rustles from behind alert her to the person approaching, and she draws in a deep breath, wishing away the tears.

A heavily scarred hand flits over her shoulder, the lightness of the gesture betrayed by the weight of the hand.

“Dori wants you to stop sulking and get back out there.” Aoi's voice has an echo to it, despite being soft. “I came to sit with you.”

Murasaki sniffs. Aoi and Midori are the only ones who are allowed to see her cracked façade, and only flashes at a time. “I’m fine,” she insists. “I’ll come right out.”

Murasaki pushes to her feet, pressing harder on the earth than she needs to, allowing the pebbles to grind into her palms. Aoi's eyes are hooded, the extra eyes on the sides of her face downcast.

She must not be wearing her ring, and Murasaki wonders why.

“If…” Her voice stops Murasaki. “If it’s any consolation, I miss Rai terribly. I’m afraid of what he’ll think, when he finds out we’ve failed.”

_When he finds out_ I’ve _failed. Aoi and Dori weren’t part of it._

Murasaki holds out her hand, and Aoi grasps it lightly. They share a sad smile.

“Go write him a letter,” Murasaki says. “Tell him you love him, and you miss him.”

Aoi’s eyes widen, understanding flickering in them. Then her expression falls. “Will you write to Aeris?”

_To the last person I’ve loved and hurt? No._

She shakes her head. “I’ll find Dori, let her slap some sense into me and start a new plan. Maybe arguing against the Court's mentality will bring me back to myself.”

Aoi’s fingers find hers again, squeezing gently. “Come talk to me after, if your heart still aches.”

_It will never stop aching. I love too easily._

Murasaki nods, and turns to stare out at the water for a while longer. Sinks back to her knees, for she is weak.

The spot over her heart is cold, where the wind blows through the wet fabric.

\-----

Aeris unloads and oils the gun, checking and cleaning its components thoroughly before putting it back together. He sets it on his left and picks up another rifle to repeat the process.

Outside the curtain, the soldiers keep going about their daily business. Their whispers have a hollowness to them, broken and devoid of life. It’s not hard to understand why, after the news broke.

Aurene, gone. Their last hope of defeating Kralkatorik, snuffed out like a flame. _After_ being impaled, of course.

Aeris exhales deeply through his nose, clicking the rifle shut. His right hand reaches for another, but finds nothing but gunpowder dregs. He stares at the empty spot for a second, then raises his eyes to the high ceiling with exasperation. He didn’t think he’d be done so quickly.

Great. Now he has to go out there and face the rest of the Pact. He doesn’t think he’s ready for that.

Scooping up the guns, he makes his way to the rack and begins stacking them, taking his time. But he’s still done too quickly, and the lack of things to occupy his attention unsettles him.

Aeris picks up a towel and cleans the grease from his hands with it, walking over to the rainwater barrel to rinse. When he’s done, he takes a quick glance around the small area, confirming its emptiness. Good. He needs all the privacy he can get.

Crouching behind a table, he murmurs a spell, fingers tracing the symbols in the air. There’s a whisper and a rush of wind, and he grimaces as he opens his eyes.

He stands and steps over to the water barrel, peeking at his reflection. Ashy skin, wide eyes, fronds pulled back from his face. He smiles at his reflection, and a female sylvari smiles back.

Aeris hopes the illusion will hold, and steps beyond the curtain.

He goes to the forge first, seeking out the only other warbandmate in the Pact. Rune might not have been allowed to help with the dragonsblood weapons, but she would be there all the same. Nothing and no one kept her from working with metal, if they knew what was good for them.

The soldiers don’t glance twice at him as he slips past them, and he allows himself a longer look at their faces. They all look the same: tired, haggard, hopeless. Aeris can’t help but wonder what the Commanders are planning, and if they have told the troops yet. Morale was taking a turn for the worse.

The crowd thins as he makes his way towards the forge, the soldiers choosing to stay close to the hearths and not venture into the cold passageways. The halls of Deldrimor Keep are beautiful, he has to admit. It was a waste to not admire them, especially now that beauty and hope are so hard to find. He hopes it doesn’t stay that way.

The room before the forge is bustling with people, and he sticks to the shadows to avoid any members of Dragon's Watch. Not many would be able to see through his illusion, but Rytlock would be able to, and he didn’t want to face the tribune at the moment.

Aeris hears the forge before he feels it. The Zephyrite choir has stopped, but the ringing of steel hitting steel persists, and the heat from the lava never cools. Pacing around the room, as far from the heat as he can, he tries to spot Rune, and groans when he sees her speaking to the Forgemaster at the centre of the forge.

He supposes he can wait until their conversation is over.

Except that it never seems to end, dragging on and on, until he feels dizzy from the heat and his pacing.

(Really, he shouldn’t be this affected by the heat. He spends his days in _Ascalon_ , and the Pale Mother knows how hot it is there.)

He perches on a crate and watches the two figures, silently begging them to _hurry up._ He rests his head against the stack of crates behind him, hoping the pressure will alleviate some of his dizziness. But no one comes for him and soon, the light and heat from the forge force his eyes close, and the ringing of steel lulls him into slumber.

_His head hurts. His throat is dry and his tongue is thick and heavy in his mouth. The light above him is weak, bits of sunlight filtering through the slats in the roof. A lamp sits on the table, its light dull from the cloth covering it. He wonders where he is._

_“Commander. He is awake.”_

_A throaty voice calls from the mouth of the room, and he turns his head, wincing at the throbbing. He can hear footfalls against sand, and soon, multiple shadows block the doorway._

_He closes his eyes. He can feel emotions roiling, and they don’t belong to him. What is this?_

_“Aeris.” It’s a whisper, a plea. It’s one word, filled with raw emotion – panic, relief, desperation. Love?_

_It’s one word, and he thinks that’s his name._

Aeris. _He tests the name in his mind, rolling it over. It sounds right._

**_It is your name, dearheart._ **

_He squeezes his eyes shut._ Who is that?

**_I am the Pale Tree. Your mother. You have suffered greatly, my child._ **

I don’t understand.

**_Your mind has been damaged by the dangerous magic you encountered. Fret not, for your friends have managed to cure the worst of it._ **

Then I must thank them.

_Aeris opens his eyes, taken aback by the closeness of the person before him. A female, whose eyes are wide and stained with relief. He reaches out with his mind, and what he feels confirms it. She is the one with the wild emotions he feels._

_“Aeris,” she whispers. Her hand grasps his, and he pulls it away, disturbed at her casual touch. Who does she think she is?_

_Her eyes droop at the loss of contact, and he senses that she wants to reach out again. She pulls it back instead – a wise move, he thinks. He’s suddenly not in the mood to deal with people, especially creepy ones._

_Over her head, he spots two other females. They look at him; the green-barked one's eyebrows are furrowed, her mouth pressed into a pout. The purple-barked one seems to look at him down her nose – but that doesn’t make sense; of course she’s looking down at him, he’s lying down._

_He's confused, and wonders who they are._

_The voice – the Pale Tree – said they were friends. But he recognises none of them._

_“Ah, he is indeed awake.” A rumbling voice drifts over to them, deeper than the one he heard before. Aeris glances up and blinks in surprise. A giant frog steps towards them, and the female sylvari drift back, allowing him closer._

Hylek, _his mind supplies, and he knows this to be true. These giant frogs are a race called the hylek, and they are masters of alchemy._

_The hylek places a webbed hand on his forehead, peering into his eyes. “Much better. The fever leaves you.”_

_“Thank you,” he croaks._

Ha _, he thinks._ I sound like him. Croaking.

_The hylek pats his forehead, his skin cool. “You are welcome. My tribe owes Aoi a favour, and this was too easy to help resolve. Come, can you sit? Have some water, and some broth, if you can stomach it.”_

_He feels oddly shaky, and flinches when the wild female from before moves forward to help him sit. He can feel her hurt, but she doesn’t say anything, simply handing him the cup._

_He sips at it, half-listening to the hylek's explanation of what happened to him. Chaos magic, warping his mind, twisting it to madness. He is lucky, he hears, that his body was not also affected. Does he have any missing memories?_

_Aeris blinks, stares into his empty cup. Does he?_

_“I don’t know,” he admits. “I feel as if I do not know anything.”_

_“What do you mean?”_

_He thinks about it. “I know some things, like what food is, and where places are on a map. But the specifics of my life… I feel as if I know nothing of that at all.”_

_The room stills. The sylvari look at him with a mix of horror, fascination and worry. The hylek looks thoughtful._

_“Stay with us a while,” the hylek says. “We shall try to acclimatise you to the world as best we can. It would not do to let a patient stumble out and kill himself by accident because he is but a tadpole.”_

_He grins weakly, tickled by the analogy and strangely unoffended by it. “I have no objections.”_

_“Good, good.” The hylek turns to the sylvari. “Don’t give him a hard time, okay?”_

_All of them nod, the one with green bark piping up, “Thank you. You have been very kind.”_

_“A debt for a debt,” he replies. “I fear that I will have to repay that debt many times before it is repaid in full.”_

_“Nonsense, Ikniu. It was my pleasure to help.”_

_The hylek shrugs and bows, stepping outside. The sylvari are upon him in a moment._

_“How do you feel?” It’s the wild one again, concern radiating from her. Aeris looks away, too unsettled to answer, and notices that her bark is the same shade of blue as his._

_Odd, but not unusual._

_The haughty one steps forward and peers into his eyes, harrumphing under her breath. “He looks decent. Disoriented, but fine.”_

_“Is that your professional opinion, Dori?” The green one asks, her tone lilting, teasing._

_“Maybe.”_

_He feels like he should say something. “Who_ are _you people?”_

Hmm, not the best start, but it’ll do.

_They stare at him, until the wild one breaks the silence. “You don’t recognise us?”_

_“No. Should I? You’re kind for helping me, and for that I thank you. But I don’t know you, and this is extremely weird.”_

_They seem to hold their breath, and it is the wild one who eventually speaks. “I am Murasaki, and this is Aoi and Midori. You’re my pod twin, and they’re my friends.”_

_Pod twin? Aeris knows that phrase, but to be the twin of this female? The Pale Mother must be joking. She is too intense. He can feel the sea of emotions that ripples under her bark – terror and panic and fierce determination, all lined with the sharp tang of violence. It makes him wary, to know that someone could be so well acquainted with death and not be affected by it._

_He shakes his head, fingers gripping the cup tightly. Too tightly, but he can’t help himself. “I don’t know you. Sorry.”_

_The wild one –_ Murasaki _– laughs weakly. “You’re joking, right? Aeris, this isn’t funny. I thought I lost you.”_

_He shakes his head more firmly. “No, I truly don’t know you. And you are freaking me out.”_

_“Aeris–”_

_He can feel her distress, but the way she says his name, as if he_ has _to listen to her. No, he refuses to do that._

_“Listen.” His voice is cold, harsher than intended, but he's in a panic now, and the defensive words flow too easily. “I do not know you, and you are not helping, if you have helped at all. I don’t care who you are, but you act as if you have power over me, and I know that’s not true. I belong to no one but myself, and I am not indebted to you in any way. Now get out.”_

_She hesitates, resolve faltering, her mouth half-open as if to protest. Aeris grits his teeth. “Get. Out.”_

_Murasaki’s hands are trembling, but her face has gone still. A mask. She clenches the trembling digits into fists, then turns around and marches out, her steps stiff. The green one – Aoi – glances at him for only a moment before she runs out after her._

_The purple one, Midori, sighs and rests her chin in her hand, a small smile on her face. “You’re a lot more entertaining now than before.”_

_He senses that she means it; she’s amused, rather than panicked like the others are. “So you insist on following her lead as well?”_

_“Mm, not precisely.” Midori perches on the edge of the bed, a safe distance from him. “I’m a necromancer, and I recognise dead things when I see them. Your past is dead to you, it seems, and I sense that the only way forwards is for you to forget it.”_

_Aeris feels the knot in his chest loosen._ Finally, someone who understands.

_“I really do remember nothing,” he admits. “Everything is a blur. Indistinct.”_

_“But can you discern truth from lie?”_

_He starts, and stares at her. Midori doesn’t flinch, only raising an eyebrow to push her question._

_Aeris nods slowly. “I feel as if I know these things. And I can sense the emotions of others, just a little.”_

_“You haven’t forgotten everything, then.” She reaches over and plucks the cup from his grip, rising to swap it out for another one on the table. “You were trained in mesmer magic before. Perhaps some of that training remains.”_

_“Perhaps,” he concedes. He knows what mesmers do, their manipulation of the mind. It makes sense now, how he can feel the tinges of emotion from others._

_The cup he is handed is warm, and he sips the broth gratefully. The liquid warms him; he didn’t know he was cold._

_Midori regards him a little longer. “My take is this: after the hylek have deemed you healthy, move on. Go into Tyria, explore and find your place. My loyalty will always be with Murasaki, and as much as I want to see her happy again, it will do neither of you good.”_

_“You don’t believe her, do you?” His voice drips with distaste. “She sounds delusional.”_

_Midori says nothing, but holds his gaze until he looks away._

_“What I believe,” she says softly, “Is based on the truths of the past. The past that I bade you forget._

_“To answer you: yes, I do believe her. They are her truths, as they are mine. But for you,” she shakes her head, “They are not_ your _truths. They are a dream, long-forgotten. Dwell on your here and now instead. Make yourself a new life.”_

_She stands and claps him on the shoulder. “Death stalked you, and yet you got away. Treasure your second chance.”_

_Aeris frowns at her back, then looks into his half-finished broth._

_He senses that she spoke the truth. She feels like the most straightforward of the trio, despite her haughty demeanour._

_Perhaps he will follow her advice, and move away from the turbulent and disturbing past that he cannot recall._

“Aeris. Aeris, wake _up_.”

He blinks blearily, scowling and pressing a hand over his eyes at the brightness. He feels slow and sluggish, and he does not want to wake up.

“Burn Aron for leaving me alone in this,” he hears, before he is picked up. The breath is knocked out of him, and the blurry swishing of something before his eyes tells him what happened.

_Rune tossed me over her shoulder._

He doesn’t know to feel smug or ashamed.

Aeris watches the swaying of her tail for a bit, feeling the coolness of the halls as they move away from the forge. He reaches back and tugs on her mane. ”I can walk.”

“Oh? Are you sure you’re awake?”

“I’m certain.”

She lets him slide off her shoulder, glaring at him as he dusts himself off. Ah, the illusion must have shattered when he fell asleep, he’s blue again.

“Your illusion broke when you fell asleep.”

Aeris sighs. “Yes, I just realised.”

“You should’ve just come to get me instead of waiting,” Rune continues. “I could’ve talked forever with the Forgemaster.”

“I realise that now.” Aeris rubs his neck sheepishly. “I just wanted to chat, I finished cleaning the guns.”

Rune raises an eyebrow. “You mean you want more work? What a surprise.”

“We’re among Pact here,” he hisses. “I’m trying to avoid them.”

The charr snorts. “Not fond of fame, eh? Me neither.”

Aeris throws up his hands. “If you know, why question it?”

“Sometimes it’s better to hear things spoken aloud.”

They continue down the hall, reaching the doorway that opens out into the snowy peaks. After the heat of the forge, the chilly air feels like heaven, and he takes an appreciative breath.

“Why didn’t you go to find your sister?”

Aeris doesn’t look at her, his eyes fixed on the sparking landscape. “I don’t want to cause her trouble.”

Rune snorts. “Trouble? Cub, the Commander loves you more than she does herself. After what happened, she’d be more than happy to see you.”

Aeris keeps silent. He knows it’s true. And though he loves her in his own way, he can never be the one she needs.

_Her brother died in the Chaos Caverns. I just wear his body._

“She doesn’t know I’m here,” he says at last. “Last she heard, I was still in Jahai, in Sun’s Refuge.”

“So you’re a surprise. Big deal. At least you’d be a good surprise.”

Aeris sighs heavily. He can’t tell her. Rune wouldn’t understand. The warband wouldn’t understand.

“I need to see Dori first. She’ll know if it’s okay to meet Mura.”

Rune huffs and folds her arms. “Stop delaying, cub. Everyone knows the Commander blames herself for what happened. If we want to get anywhere from now on, we need her back and not mourning.”

“I think she’s allowed to mourn,” Aeris says lightly. Warningly.

“Of course she’s allowed. But Midori and Aoi don’t hold fort as well as Murasaki does. They’ve got less experience to go with the title. We need Murasaki back, or the Pact will really fall apart, even with the Marshal holding it together.”

Aeris knows she’s right, and he hates it.

“I’ll go look for her.”

He turns back into the building, still feeling Rune’s eyes on his back, and murmurs a different spell. This time, he’s rendered invisible, and sticks to the walls.

The Commander’s office isn’t hard to find, and he’s relieved to see only Midori inside. Aeris steps inside the doorway and drops the spell, clearing his throat to alert her.

Midori glances up, the corner of her lips twitching up. “I knew I heard something. I was wondering when you’d come here, actually.”

“How’d you know?”

She shrugs. “Someone just reported that the Commander was taking a nap in the forge. It didn’t seem likely, especially since I know Mura is in one of the lower tunnels.”

“And she hates the heat.”

“Then there is that,” Midori agrees. “But why are you here instead of with her? Surely you’ve heard the news.”

“I have,” Aeris says, eyes downcast. “But I didn’t think I was fit to comfort her.”

“No?”

“While I was in the forge, I– I had a dream. A memory, really.”

He glances up at her; Midori's chin is propped on her fist, and she raises her eyebrows at him to continue.

“I remembered that time when I first woke, and the three of you had taken me to the hylek.”

“Ah,” Midori murmurs. “You were nasty to Mura.”

“Yes,” Aeris mumbles. “I know she wouldn’t be thinking of that right now – we’re twins, not telepathic – but I still feel guilty. Unworthy. She deserves better than me.”

“She does,” Midori agrees, and Aeris flinches. “Don’t look like that, you came to me because you knew I’d give you the truth.”

“Have I ever told you that I hate you for it?”

“Mm, once or twice.” Midori twirls a pen in her fingers, glancing sharply at him. “But that’s not really why you came to see me.”

“No,” Aeris agrees. “I came to check how’s she’s doing, and then I’ll go back to hiding in plain sight.”

Midori glares at him, and he can sense how her mood sours. “You’re an asshole, you know that? She needs you, and you’re going to keep hiding?”

“She doesn’t need _me_.” Aeris says, hands clenching into fists. “She needs Starmist, or her brother. She needs someone who didn’t die and become a stranger masquerading as her brother.”

Midori suddenly stands, the chair screeching behind her. Rage emanates from her, crashing over him like a spew of hot lava. “Shut up. Shut _up_. I don’t care that _now_ is the time you've chosen to grow a moral compass, because she needs _you_ , you hear? I don’t care that you remember nothing of your life before the Chaos Caverns. I don’t care, that you’re guilty that you’ll never be who she needs. You’re all she has _now_ , and if you care about her even a bit, you’ll let her cry on your shoulder at least.”

Aeris opens his mouth, but Midori vaults over the table and slaps him. Her hand just barely reaches his face, but his head is thrown to the side regardless.

“You are a coward,” she hisses. “A coward who dwells too heavily on the past, and lets it cloud your judgement of the present. You should be learning from your mistakes instead of letting them weigh you down. You should have learnt that mistakes are only lessons, instead of letting them build up and become a rock you cannot roll away.

“You want to do some good in the Pact? Find Murasaki. Go to her, and bring her back to the present. She has to mourn – we all do – but without her, Aoi and I can’t do anything. We don’t know enough to deal with all of this yet. We can’t move forward until we learn from her. And we can’t learn until she is pieced back together.”

Midori's words sound so similar to Rune's that Aeris is taken aback, but she is not done.

“Do you know what they are saying outside? Have you heard what the soldiers are saying about her?

“'Where's the Commander? Why isn’t she helping us? Why isn’t she fixing this? Didn’t she tell us it’ll all be alright, that we’ll win?'

“'Why is she gone? Why is she mourning for a dragon? The dragons have brought us nothing but destruction, they should all die.’”

Midori’s nostrils flare as she takes a large breath, her hands clenching and unclenching. She looks as if she wants to throttle someone. “Why is she mourning? Because she lost her daughter. Because she lost the last family member who loved her, who was there with her. But do they know that? No! I don’t think they do, nor will they ever understand.”

She fixes her glare on him again, and jabs him in the chest, hard enough that he has to steel himself against stepping back. “They look at her, and they see what they want to see: a sylvari, a fallen dragon minion. Someone they can’t relate to, because she is so high above them. Too far away. She’s not relatable, no matter how hard she tries to interact with the people or help them.”

“What has that got to do with me?” Aeris cuts in, discomfort wriggling under his bark. “Get to your point.”

“My point,” she hisses, “Is that seeing the two of you together helps not only her mental state, but it will do wonders for the Pact as well. It will help them understand. Understand that she is not so much unlike them. That she isn’t cold and unfeeling, that she’s more than a 'freed dragon minion'. That she has family she loves and will do anything to protect.

“They will never understand that she died for Tyria. They will never know that long before that, she lost half her soul when _her twin_ died. They will never know how she kept fighting out of obligation, even as everyone close to her kept leaving or dying. She loves Tyria and will die for it again if it helps fix anything, but spoiler, it _won’t_.

“You want to help? Go out there, and fix your sister. Apologise to her. Do whatever. You hear me? Paint that pretty picture for the Pact to see. Pretend if you must. But show them that the Commander has something worth fighting for, that she _will_ fight for.” Before he can nod or reply, she continues, “Or I will find a Nightmare Pod and stuff you in it myself. You’ll make a lousy Courtier, but at least I know my Courtiers have _purpose_. You? You’re no better than a desiccated choya in the desert wind.”

Aeris’ eyes drop as she turns and walks back to the desk. He can feel the weight of her accusations and revelations hanging heavy over him, and it makes his head dip as he shuffles towards the door. All the fight has left him, and now he just feels ashamed.

He can barely cast the invisibility spell before he slowly walks towards the lower tunnels; the buzz of words in his head is too loud.

Is it true? That Murasaki would fight for him? That part of her died when he first woke and shunned her? She always seemed like such a cheerful person, and though he could always sense the tinge of pain under her façade when they were together, he never knew how deep that vein ran.

He wonders if she hates him too, for leaving her, for never giving her a chance.

He wonders if he’ll be brave enough to drop the invisibility when he finds her.

The air grows colder and ever damper as he descends, and he wishes he thought to bring a coat with him. The floor isn’t slippery, but keeping his footing is tough when he’s trying to be silent.

He doesn’t expect to hear voices when he arrives at the cavern, and ducks behind a stalagmite in case his spell wears off.

The voices aren’t loud enough to distinguish words, but the tone and cadence reminds him of Aoi. Her words have sounded oddly twisted ever since she surrendered to Mordremoth and her body got changed. She may have reclaimed her body in the following years, but her voice never recovered.

Aeris looks out from behind the rock, just in time to see Aoi turn back up the path. The smaller figure remains, leaning against a rock and staring out over the water, hands lying limp in her lap.

It doesn’t take long for Aoi to pass by him and his hiding spot, and he waits a few moments longer before ducking out. Aeris lets the invisibility fade away, and approaches her at a normal pace. He knows she prefers to hear someone approaching, rather than sneaking up on her.

But Murasaki doesn’t look up. She’s back on her knees, the gravel scattered on her splayed skirts. Aeris is within five paces of her, and her hands are still loosely curled in her lap. Limp. Careless. Defeated. He reaches out to grasp her shoulder.

She turns her head to look at him, the tiniest of smiles flitting over her face. “I heard you.”

“But you didn’t call me out.”

“No.” Murasaki turns back to the water, but one hand moves to her arm, grasping it through the fabric of her dress. Not just grasping – pressing, crushing, trying to channel her negative energy elsewhere. Aeris only knows this because he has witnessed it before.

“Hey. Stop that.”

Murasaki’s grip tightens further. “You’re not the boss of me.”

He reaches out, but she flinches away, hand moving to her chest, fingers pressing down over her heart. Her expression twists briefly – agony, hurt, resignation – before it smooths into her regular blank look.

“Weren’t you in Jahai?”

Deflection. He recognises this game, has played it before with her when she’s not ready to open up. When she’s too shattered to speak about whatever is bothering her.

“I was,” he agrees. “I came with the Pact to prepare for the fight against Kralkatorik.”

He senses it: the stab and twist of grief, even though her expression doesn’t change.

“Ah. Were you there for the final fight?”

Aeris shakes his head. “I was helping prepare weapons for the soldiers. My Iron Legion training comes in more handy than my actual magic.”

Murasaki glances at him briefly, eyebrows raising slightly when it clicks. “Ah. One mesmer leading the Pact is bad enough.”

“Better not to give them doubt, with a second, similar-looking mesmer fighting on the front lines.” Aeris finishes her thought.

The tiniest smile lifts her lips. “Good thinking. Anyone come with you?”

Aeris takes a moment to lower himself to the ground, resting his head against hers. “Just Rune. Best blacksmith in the warband, maybe the entire legion. But don’t tell any of the other smiths that.”

“Of course I won’t.” She adjusts herself as well, until her head leans against his shoulder. He can feel the coil of emotions unravelling inside her, loosening its iron grip on her heart. It reminds him of what Midori said, and his heart twists. He turns to kiss the top of her head.

“Did Dori send you too?” Murasaki’s voice is soft, a whisper he almost misses.

He sighs and rests his cheek atop her head. “Yes. I didn’t want to bother you, but she guilted me into it.”

“Oh.” The coil of emotion tightens in her chest again, and Aeris feels immediate guilt for telling her the truth.

“I didn’t think you’d want to see me.”

(If he is already telling the truth, he might as well explain it to her. He knows she would overthink it if he didn’t.)

Small, cold fingers fumble over his, squeezing his hand. It feels more like a flutter.

“I didn’t want you to see how I’d failed.” Her voice catches, the emotions tighten. The pain magnifies, and he knows there’s something she’s not telling him.

“What else?” Aeris keeps his tone neutral; Murasaki hates crying, and any emotion from others could set her off, this close to the edge.

She doesn’t say anything, but her emotions churn, her fingers tighten on his hand.

“Show me?” He tries to make his voice as soft as possible, the lightest suggestion. He’s not sure he succeeds.

Her head shifts on his shoulder, and her free hand lifts tiredly, weaving images in the air – miniature illusions, figures he recognises.

Carita de Santis. One of the trio of human sisters that Murasaki had been friends with, who had been out of touch for so long, she didn’t know where they were.

Varshur. A rather nice ranger, who had an excellent bond with his pets. Aeris vaguely recalls that Murasaki used to fancy him. He wonders where the man is, now.

Ayla Leothyra. He remembers her. A chronomancer like Murasaki, light on her feet and wove the sturdiest portals that he had ever known.

The last face, he knows by heart. All sylvari do.

Trahearne, firstborn of the Firstborns, the Pale Tree’s favourite son. Unlike the other figures who stand stoically, Trahearne stands with one hand reached out, a kind smile on his face.

Aeris bends to peek at his sister’s face. Her expression is the slightest bit downturned, and her eyes are fixed on Trahearne.

“Mura?”

She doesn’t look at him as she begins speaking. “I love them all. Loved. I don’t know.”

Murasaki takes a long breath, and Aeris can feel the shudders that goes through her. “Trahearne is the only one who loved me back. And he’s dead. I haven’t heard from Carita or her sisters, but I hope they’re okay. Varshur and Dartea have been gone for so long as well. Ayla…” She trails off. “She’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever known, but she’ll never love me. No one does. No one will.”

Aeris squeezes her hand. “You’re being hard on yourself. _I_ love you.”

“But I killed you too.” Murasaki’s voice catches. She looks at him in the eye, her mouth wobbling. “I’ve lost you once. It’s not fair of me to keep you around, since not one part of you remembers me from before.”

“I chose to stay,” Aeris says. “I don’t remember, but this is me _choosing_ to stay.”

“I can’t lose you again!” She turns to grab his lapels and shake him, her fingers like ice, even through the material. Her face is contorted, twisted; she looks terrible when she cries. Her agony tears through him, rending his heart as well. “I’ve lost you twice: once to chaos magic, once when you walked away. That’s not counting every little time you’ve come back and left, not counting each and every time I feel Star's heart break when he’s thinking of you.”

Murasaki's fingers loosen, her expression clearing for a second, though her emotions plummet. Her eyes squeeze shut as her head bows, a single tiny splotch appearing on her skirt. “Oh, Mother forgive me, I killed Star too.”

“He’s not dead. And I left him in the Mists, so the blame's on me for that one,” Aeris points out, trying to ignore the echo of heartache. For the lover he barely remembers. For his pod twin, who _does_ love him, in spite of all he’s done.

“But if I had never listened to you? If I had never introduced you two?” Murasaki dries her eyes with the back of her hands, wiping them on her skirt. “No one would be where they are, in the terrible positions they are in, if I had never interfered. I wish I hadn’t been born. You should’ve absorbed me in the pod.”

“Oi,” he protests. “Don’t talk like that–”

“And hide the truth?” Her emotions are a vacuum – hollow, empty and unending. “No. I’m tired, Aeris. So tired. I should’ve stayed in the Domain of the Lost when Balthazar fried me. I should’ve been impaled when Kralkatorik shot at me. I should’ve died a thousand times over. I should have been there to take the place of every fallen soldier, or at least put a clone in their place. I should have done so much more – I _could_ have done so much more. I’m weak. I'm so weak. And I’m tired.”

Murasaki has been curling further into herself with this speech, pulling away from him. Aeris reaches out for her shoulders, pulling her in and wrapping his arms around her.

She is limp in his arms, even when he rests his cheek on her head. Even when he pulls her all the way into his lap, rubbing some warmth into her shoulders, because blast it, she’s insanely cold.

He doesn’t quite know what to say to her, because in a way, she’s right. But he has to say something, so he settles for, “You can’t save everyone.”

Aeris hears a small sob, feels her emotions crack; he pulls back a little, leaning down to press his forehead against hers. “Shh. Stop crying. Those soldiers knew what they were getting into. This is a war. They knew they might die. They accepted the consequences.”

“I still should have died.”

“And let this coalition crumble around you? I don’t think you could do that.”

Murasaki’s emotions plunge, and he can almost feel her heart break. Again.

Aeris sighs. Her emotions are confusing his own, and he feels the guilt and shame of Midori's words hanging over him again. “I’m not trying to be mean, okay? You just care too much. You don’t want anyone to die, because you’re too self-sacrificing. But you need to see that the Pact will literally crumble without you. Logan’s good, Aoi and Midori are good, but people will follow _you._ You die, and Tyria will go to mulch.”

“I still want to die,” Murasaki whispers. “For real, this time. I’m so tired of all of it.”

“Dying is the coward's way out,” Aeris says, resisting the urge to wipe her tears away. “Or so a cub once told me. What good is dying? You’re conceding defeat. You’re admitting that you’re not good enough to win. And with old Kralky eating the Mists – I don’t think you really want to die.”

Murasaki sniffs, amusement colouring the emotionless void. “You have a terrible way of comforting people.”

“Blame the charr.”

“You just suck.”

“But you feel better now.”

“No, I don’t.” Her arms wiggle free and wrap loosely around his torso. Aeris can feel the shuddering breaths that she takes, the sobs that she hides in the folds of his shirt. The gulps of air and loud sniffling, and the wetness seeping through his shirt where her tears stain. He rubs her back and rests his cheek on her head, letting the tears run their course, feeling her emotions crest and fall. Mother knows how long she’d been supressing them.

But the tears do come to an end, as does the tsunami of emotion. A listless tiredness rests in its place, and he turns to kiss the top of her head. “Better?”

A slight shifting on his chest is all the response he gets – a nod, and fingers uncurling from his shirt. Aeris bends forward, wrapping his arms more securely around Murasaki as he lifts her, staggering to his feet. He shifts his grip, but Murasaki pokes him weakly. “I’ll walk.”

“Are you certain?”

“It’ll do me good.” She wriggles until he sets her on the ground, sweeping the remaining gravel from her skirts. Then she wraps an arm around his, interlacing their fingers and leaning against him for support. “Walk with me?”

He squeezes her fingers in answer, and they move slowly towards the cave entrance.

Aeris can still feel Murasaki’s emotions in flux, but they are calmer. Duller. He feels like he should say something.

“You know I love you, right?”

He feels the tiny shift in her emotions. The lift; a small, cresting wave. “I love you too.”

Aeris squeezes her fingers. “You love too much, and too hard.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

Their footsteps echo off the walls of the tunnel – little clicks that scatter, returning to them like the pattering sounds of devourers' feet. Murasaki turns a little, glances up at him. “There’s so much to love. People. The weather. The lay of the land, the architecture of races long gone. The beauty of relationships, and the comfort we find in them. Isn’t it worth loving?”

Aeris doesn’t know. He’s not much of a ‘feelings' person. “You tell me. You've always had more emotion towards things.”

He stumbles; Murasaki bumped him with her hip. He turns to glare at her, but the crease between his brows fades when he sees her faint smile.

“You’re an emotions person, too, Aeris.” She squeezes his fingers lightly and keeps walking. “We just have to find it again. Chaos corruption can’t keep it away forever.”

Aeris doubts that, but Murasaki's no longer crying, and he’d prefer to keep it that way for a bit longer. “Mm-hmm.”

She hip-checks him again, laughing as he stumbles. “You doubt me. I'll show you.”

Murasaki sniffs suddenly, her emotions plummeting as she clears her throat and wipes her eyes. “I’ll show you. I’ll prove it to you.”

“Mura…?”

“I never got to tell Aurene how much I love her.” Murasaki’s voice is thick. Choked. “My _daughter._ ”

They’re still walking, Murasaki pulling them along. Her grip is crushing, her footsteps like thunder in the tunnel, her breaths ragged and deep as she tries to force more tears back. “I– I’ll prove it to you, okay? We’ve spent this long together. Even if you can’t remember, I’ll show you, somehow. That you can still be an emotional person.”

Aeris lets her hand go, wrapping an arm around her shoulders instead. Her arm snakes around his waist, her sniffles muffled in his shirt. “Let’s bring flowers to Aurene?”

“What flowers?” Her voice is despairing. “Do you see flowers in this frozen wasteland?”

“What about illusions? I can’t shape snow into flowers very well.”

“We could carve crystals.” He can hear the lift in her tone, her attempt at humour.

“That too.”

They banter softly, all the way back to the main hall, past small groups of soldiers who stop and stare, who look baffled and confused. Murasaki notices them, and waves a little at each group. Her hand is now tucked into the crook of Aeris' elbow, rather than around his waist. It makes it easier to walk. It makes their relationship seem a little more acceptable, especially in the humans' eyes. Mother knows why they’re so particular about the _proper_ sort of relationship siblings should have.

They make it back to the Commander’s office, and Aeris _really_ doesn’t feel like facing Midori. She’s the most straightforward of the trio, and right now, that might be good or bad.

He unhooks Murasaki’s fingers from his elbow, whispering when her expression falls, “I don’t want to see Dori yet. I’ll get some crystals while you talk?”

Murasaki’s eyes crinkle. “Come back, okay?”

“I will,” he promises.

She lifts his hand to her lips, kissing the back of it. Her lips are cracked and rough; she needs to take better care of herself. “Thank you.”

He kisses the top of her head in return. “Be safe, until I get back.”

“Is that a threat?”

Aeris shrugs. Releases her fingers and walks away.

He can feel Murasaki’s amusement from behind him, fading away as the distance between them increases.

No, he may not remember much, and he may have messed things up spectacularly, but somehow, he is still loved and accepted.

Aeris doesn’t understand how, but love is a strange, fickle thing.

If only he could remember what it feels like himself. The real thing.

Something that doesn’t feel like an illusion about to shatter in the wind.

**Author's Note:**

> Okok, so I wrote this on Valentines' Day in 2019, right? Took me a Whole Ass year to get back to it and finish it, which is why the ending is a bit weird and there's no closure in some places. 
> 
> Also, I cried while editing it. Past me sure dug up some Heavy Trauma, and I see that I wrote this entire thing because I was heartbroken. Go figure.


End file.
